In Death, Sacrifice
by Baleful Eyes
Summary: There are six, but only one can become the Grey Warden needed to save Ferelden from the coming Blight. The others will be left to their own fates, since Duncan is not there to save them. Their endings are tragic, but in return for the downfall of five of these individuals, one will go on to save the world.
1. The Dale

"Oh, thank the Creators," came a familiar voice.

"Huh?" the young elf sat up, quickly regretting doing so. Her head reeled in pain, and she held it in her hands as if it would still the agony.

"Do not rush yourself, _da'len_."

Her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness, Lyna looked around her, trying to deduce where she was. The camp. Had it been just a dream then? So why were the Keeper and Ashalle kneeling down next to her, their eyes full of concern?

"What... what happened?" Lyna dared to ask. She looked around her once again before addressing the Keeper with another question. "Where is Tamlen?"

The Keeper frowned. "So you do not know. I had worried as much.  
"When you and Tamlen did not return from your hunt, I sent Chandan and Pol out to look for the two of you. They discovered you outside of a cave, unconscious, but Tamlen was nowhere to be found."

"What?" said Lyna, her voice a whisper, just barely audible to the Keeper and Ashalle.

"I'm so sorry, _da'assan_," Ashalle said, gently placing her hand onto Lyna's head and stroking her long, dark locks.

"The ruins," Lyna immediately replied, earning a confused look from the elder elves. "Tamlen and I, some _shemlen_ told us that they had found an elven ruin in a cave. Tamlen and I went into the cave; it was all so strange. The architecture, it barely looked elven, and then we found a mirror. It was so odd. Tamlen looked into it, and he said he saw something. Then he went to touch the mirror and I-I tried to stop him, but... that's all I remember. We have to find Tamlen. We have to find him!"

"Very well," the Keeper said after a moment. "Gather what you will need. I shall speak to Merrill."

Lyna hurriedly grabbed her weapons, which Ashalle had taken from her when she was unconscious. Once Lyna had done so, she hurried to the Keeper, who had just finished speaking with Merrill.

"So, are we to go now?" Merrill asled. Lyna nodded, confirming Merrill's inquiry. Lyna wasn't exactly close with Merrill, but then, no one in the Saebra clan was. Merrill was the Keeper's first, and though Keeper Marethari had never admitted it, everyone knew Merrill was her favorite. Merrill was different, but for the moment, Lyna didn't care. All she cared about was finding Tamlen.

She didn't.

"Keeper, we can't destroy it!"

"We can and we will," the Keeper said firmly. "You saw that mirror, did you not? It has been corrupted. You said yourself that there were darkspawn in the ruins, and now that poor child is ill. The Eluvian has been tainted; I would assume by the darkspawn. It took Tamlen away from us, and now it very well may end up taking Mahariel. We cannot allow it to remain standing. I have already sent Harshal and several others to the ruins. I ordered them to destroy the Eluvian."

"This isn't right!" Merrill insisted. "It's a part of our history! Think of all it could teach us!"

"I swore to myself that I would protect that child," came a voice; it was Ashalle, who had just exited the tent where Mahariel was resting, "and now I fear that I won't be able to. That mirror must be destroyed."

"We could fix it!" Merrill insisted.

"Whatever knowledge it holds is not worth the risks," Marethari said adamantly.

"If you will excuse me, I am going to retire for the night," said Ashalle. Marethari nodded, and the elven woman solemnly walked away.

"Merrill, I am going to see if the others have returned," said Marethari. "Please check on Mahariel."

Merrill nodded and pulled aside the drape of the tent. She entered the small tent and knelt down next to her clansman.

"I am here, _lethallan_," said Merrill.

"Merrill, please..."

"What is it?"

"Don't do it, Merrill. That mirror, it took Tamlen," Mahariel said. Merrill waited for her to say more, to go on to say how the mirror had made her ill, but the young Dale said nothing. She cared only for Tamlen, Merrill realized. What was it like to have someone like that? Someone to care for, someone who cared for you. Merrill didn't know.

"I won't," Merrill lied.

"I pray you mean it," Mahariel said. The elf was pale, sweat running down her face. Merrill felt the young woman's head; still hot, deathly so. Mahariel grunted in pain; her skin tingled, no, more than that. It felt as though she was being stabbed by a thousand knives, and her skin itched to the point that she wanted to scratch until all her flesh was gone. "I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?" Merrill said, worry managing to creep its way into her tone.

"This pain," Mahariel elaborated. "Please, Merrill, end it."

"You can't be serious," Merrill said.

"I am! I am, so just do it!" Mahariel begged. "Tamlen's gone now. He's dead, I just know it. I don't want to live without him. Everything hurts. I'm going to die anyway, so please just kill me, Merrill, please."

"I-I can't," Merrill said. "You can't ask me to do this. I... I won't. I..." But even in the dim light Merrill could see the pained, pleading expression on Mahariel's face, and she felt herself cave in. "Fine... I'll do it... Creators forgive me."

"Just, just cast a spell on me," Mahariel said. "I'm dying anyway; they won't be able to tell."

Merrill placed her hand on the sickly elf, her heart pounding rapidly in her head.

"You know, I was wrong about you," Mahariel said. Merrill's eyes widened in shock. "We all are. You're so distant; it makes you seem cold. Everyone feels that you're the Keeper's favorite, but..."

Merrill couldn't hear anymore. Mahariel's words were kind, but they hurt Merrill more than any insult ever could. Merrill whispered some words, and she could feel Mahariel's life draining from her. Mahariel stared at her blankly, but rather than curse the First, she smiled. "Thank you... _lethallan_."

When her breaths stopped altogether, Merrill held back a sob and closed her clansman's eyes. Feeling the tears stinging in her own eyes, a few managing to escape, Merrill shut her eyes tightly and made a new promise.

"I won't let your death be in vain."


	2. The Prince

He trudged barefoot along the dirt. Though he hadn't been walking long and he wasn't being weighed down by the heavy armor he usually wore, he felt as though he had been walking for days. He looked around him, noticing splotches of black ichor on the walls and the ancient architecture. A sign that he was nearing darkspawn territory, if he wasn't mistaken. Yet he didn't bother turning back. It's not as though it was any safer in the other direction. Either to be another victim of the darkspawn or a tasty snack for some deepstalker or giant spider that roamed the Deep Roads.

Was this how it was to end? To die at the hands of the darkspawn, his body left to rot in the ancient chasms? Few had to endure such a fate, even the Legion. When a member died they were returned to the Stone by their comrades, save the last who died, left unburied, never to rest in peace. He, a _prince_, was to die as a casteless legionnaire would.

Worst of all, his treacherous brother Behlen would live on, and if Behlen had no problem killing one of his brothers and selling out the other, who knows what he had planned for their father, the king. The Aeducan line was dying out, and Duran would never see his family again, not even in death. He could never apologize to Trian, or to his mother, whom he hardly even remembered.

He had been walking for several hours before he collapsed to the ground, an overwhelming sensation coursing through his body. A searing pain and an unbearable itch climbed up his arm. He scratched and scratched to no avail, and for a moment even considered chopping off his arm in order to end the pain. The only sources of light were some glowing plants here and there and the dim light given off by a pool of lava. He scooted over towards the river to sit by the warm air it gave off, and the light was enough for him to look at his arm and see what had happened. Maybe he came into contact with some sort of plant that had irritated his skin. He could see nothing on his arm, however, due to a layer of soot coating it.

He used the rags he was wearing to wipe at his arm, but when he took it away he saw that nothing had come off. He ran a finger over the black substance on his arm, shuddering when he felt a cool, slimy surface. He scratched at it, and continued scratching furiously until he realized that it wasn't coming off. He could barely hear the sound of his heavy breaths of panic over the strange melody playing in his head. The melody was oddly soothing, a beautiful symphony, a song recited in an unfamiliar language, almost like a lullaby that was reaching out to him. It told him to calm down, not to worry. It told him the pain would come and go, and that all would be well.

It was comforting at first, but eventually the tune became deafening, and it beckoned him to come to it, but Duren didn't know where to go.

He writhed in pain on the stone floor, scratching madly all over his body, wanting to rip off all of his skin to stop the itch until finally he passed out. It went on like that for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness and eventually not sure of what was going on at all.

It was odd. Despite however long he had been laying there, he felt no thirst nor hunger, as if some other force was sustaining him. The song was quieter now, but still clearly audible, and he set out to find it. After hours of wandering he ran into a group of genlocks, for some reason not surprised to see them in the least, as if he had sensed their approach. The genlocks made no move to attack him; they seemed slightly skeptical at first before walking past the prince to continue their search for the song which beckoned them all.

Duren ran to catch up with the genlocks, determined to help them in their journey. A journey which Duren, now a ghoul, had in common with the darkspawn.

Once again, Duren was an unknowing pawn in another man's game.


	3. The Betrayed

"I'm not leaving! I'm staying here with you, Mother!"

"Don't you dare!" her mother exclaimed.

Elissa stared at her father's bloody body lying limp on the ground. Yet her mother refused to leave him.

"You'll die if you just stay here!"

"I know!"

Then they were both quiet, a pale daughter staring at her determined mother in horror.

"Then why can't I stay?" Elissa whimpered.

"Darling, you need to find Fergus and tell him what has happened here," Eleanor said, putting a kind yet firm hand on her youngest's shoulder. "Let everyone know Howe as the traitor he is."

"Do it with me!" Elissa insisted.

"I can't," Eleanor said. "I have to stay here... with your father."

"Then I won't go!"

Elissa felt a sharp pain on her cheek, and her eyes widened when she looked at her mother's hand, processing what had happened.

"Leave," Eleanor hissed, "_now_."

Elissa was silent, and her now stoic mother grabbed her daughter by the wrist and opened the secret door that led out of the castle. Giving one last look at her daughter, she said, "I love you," before pushing her out, closing and locking the door.

"Mother!" Elissa shouted. "Please! Mother, please don't do this! Mother!"

Elissa cried and cried until finally she could cry no more. She fell to her knees, and eventually heard footsteps. She silently mumbled to herself, calling out for her mother as she heard Howe's voice. She heard him taunt her mother, making her kiss his boots before everything went silent with one swish of a blade. Then Howe was gone, and Elissa, alone. For a few hours she lay there, occasionally knocking on the wooden door and calling out for her parents, hoping that they might open the door and she would find it had all been a bad dream. Her mabari whimpered and tugged at her armor skirt. She looked down at him, and then she felt her stomach rumble, now understanding what it was the dog wanted. She had no money, though. Only the armor she wore, a shield, and a useless sword that was apparently some family heirloom.

What should she do now? She pondered this as she walked through the secret passage. It went in only one direction, allowing her to let her mind drift off. The path eventually came to an end, stopping at a large rock. It was faint, but on the edges of the rock glowed a faint light. Sunlight. Elissa put all her strength into it, pushing the rock with all her might until she finally moved it enough to slip out of the cave, her mabari right behind her.

She took in a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be out of the dark, musky cave. There was a faint, cool breeze, but other than that there was silence. She stood out in a field looking at the sunrise. Rising in the east. The full weight of the seemingly trivial thought hit her then. The pathway had gone in one direction, and if the sunrise was the first thing she was seeing upon exiting it meant that she had traveled only east. If she was lucky then that would mean she was close to Denerim. If she wasn't then she was near Amaranthine, the arling ruled by Rendon Howe.

She stood out like a sore thumb in her finely made armor. Seeing no other option she stripped down so that she was only wearing her undershirt and pants. She would still stick out, but far less now. If she was lucky she might find a clothesline and steal something off of it. Still, in her hand she held a shield with Highever insignia on it that would make her easily recognized as well as her family sword. The sword was old and dulled with age, but there was still a prominent engraving of the Highever heraldry on the blade. She stared at the two as she silently pondered whether or not to take them with her as she headed out. Honor bade her to keep them, or at least the family sword, but her instincts told her that she'd be safer without them. She could stick to the dirt path and remain safe enough, and if she ran into any trouble she had her mabari with her. Elissa grabbed her armor, shield, and sword and placed them behind the entrance of the passage. She gathered what little strength she had left and pushed the rock to cover up the hidden entrance. Worthless as she thought it was, Elissa wouldn't let Howe get her family sword.

Taking her raw hands off of the rock, she slumped onto the ground and panted heavily. Her hair was filthy with dried up blood and dirt, and she was sticky with sweat. She expected to break down; to scream, cry, tremble... something. Instead she just sat there, aching all over.

She could go west and return to where she had come from to meet an inevitable death at the hands of Howe or his men. She could go east and reach either Denerim or Amaranthine, the latter of which would also put her in Howe's hands. Or she could travel south until she reached the Hafter River and hope to find some way over. None of her options seemed appealing, but she chose the last. Despite the protesting of her sore muscles that practically screamed for her to stop and rest, Elissa forced herself up and headed south.

She wasn't sure how far she'd walked before she collapsed. Digging her fingers into the dirt, she felt her dogs wet nose on her leg and looked to see her mabari nudging her, urging her to get up and keep moving. She couldn't help but laugh, and now her eyes teared up as she realized that she was going to meet her family soon. That she could never tell Fergus what happened or see Howe face justice.

"It's her!"

She looked up, her vision fuzzy as she resisted the urge to fall asleep. Everything seemed to sway back and forth as she watched the soldier leap off his horse and run toward her.

"It's definitely her." Though he was standing right above her he sounded so far off to Elissa. "I'd recognize Lady Cousland any day.  
"Someone grab me some water and rations! She looks near death!"

Elissa felt the warmth of a blanket wrapping around her, and greedily sipped from a cantine of water that pressed up against her lips.

"I thought the Couslands were all..." one soldier trailed off.

"Looks like she made it out alive."

She tried to keep her eyes open, but her weary body couldn't take anymore.

"Don't worry, my lady," said the soldier smiling down at her. "We'll get you to safety. We just saw Arl Howe riding by on his way to Denerim. I'm sure he'll be willing to help however he can. I imagine he's the closest thing to family you have left now."

Elissa's eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then they slowly began to close, and though she was screaming at her body to make some sound, some indication that Howe could not be trusted, she closed her eyes. Then sleep overcame her; a deep, dark sleep that she had a feeling she wouldn't awaken from.


	4. The Mage

_Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests __**never**__ end._

These words came to Neria Surana's mind the moment Jowan cut his hand and used blood magic. The Pride demon's final taunt, and for a moment, Neria Surana wondered if the Pride demon had known that she would end up in that awful situation. Demons were powerful creatures; who's to say they couldn't see the future, too? She had helped Jowan retrieve his phylactery, believing him when he had assured her that he was not a blood mage.

She had been so relieved to finally return to the Circle. The scars Aeonar had left her with did their damage, a terrifying experience she would never be able to forget. She had told them that Jowan threatened her, threatened to kill her if she led them to the templars. She had told them that she planned on leading Jowan to the templars anyway, that she had tried to lead him to the wrong place, unsuccessfully.

They believed her lie. Yes, it was a lie, but so what? Jowan had lied to her. Why should she take the fall for him? He was just some manipulative shem; the same as any shem. It didn't matter that he was a mage because he was a human, and to him, she was just a knife ear. That's what she'd kept telling herself. And they'd let her return. After so much waiting, they had finally let her return.

Now she wished she was back in prison. Demons roamed the tower, either killing people or turning them into abominations. Neria locked herself in a room with a group of other mages. They needed to conserve their energy.

Eadric would be the first to keep watch, but Neria was restless; she couldn't sleep, and so she urged Eadric to get his rest and let her stay up instead. The mages locked in the room were all asleep, save for a few apprentices who were still too shaken. Neria closed her eyes, but kept her ears open for any noise, triying to sense if any abominations drew near. In the darkness she heard a familiar voice.

_You're scared, aren't you?_

Yes. She was.

_You feel betrayed, don't you? Jowan turned to blood magic, and now so has the rest of the tower. You always end up getting caught in the middle of things._

Yes, she did, didn't she? It wasn't fair.

_That's right, it's __**not **__fair. And now you're trapped like an animal, cornered up and trying to escape. You can't even __**defend **__yourself. It's not a fair fight._

That's right. Mouse was right. He had tried to trick her before, fed her lies about being an apprentice, but now he spoke the truth. Neria was the _victim _here; she was always the victim. Constantly persecuted, either for being a mage or for being an elf. She was surrounded by _shemlen_ who were always lying to her, deceiving her. And now the apprentices, who she was supposed to be a mentor to, were in danger, and there was nothing she could do.

_There is one way._

Neria knew.

_You just have to __**want**__ to let me in._

He had told her this once before, saying that by doing so she could help free him, a supposed mage, from forever roaming the Fade. She had seen through it; Neria could tell that Mouse had been trying to trick her. But now, now _he _could help _her_, and in turn, she could help both the others and herself.

So the young elf relaxed herself, perfectly calm as she willingly let him in and was enveloped by darkness.

_Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests __**never**__ end._

And Neria had just failed the most important test of all.


	5. The Groom

Soris dropped his bow and quiver and collapsed onto his knees, hands raised in defeat. "I surrender." He stared apologetically at his cousin, Shianni, who in return, stared at him, dumbfound. Yet she was not angry because she knew now that Darrian was gone Soris was like her: broken.

Vaughan turned to address Jonaley. "Go get the guards... or what's left of them. And a maid; I don't want any _elf _blood staining the rug."

Jonaley nodded and ran out to do as Vaughan had said. Vaughan leered at the corpse of the elf lying limp on the ground. The elf disgusted Vaughan, the insolent fool having dared defy his betters. Soris, however, was haunted by the sight. His cousin's dirty blonde hair, disheveled and unkempt, his swarthy skin now frighteningly pale, and worst of all were his eyes. Darrian's lifeless eyes stared accusingly at Soris as if he had known that Soris would lose his will to fight upon Darrian's death.

Vaughn poked Darrian's body with his foot, as if to check if the elf were truly dead. Shianni likely would have cursed him if she wasn't still so jolted.

Darrian had always been the brave one.

"Wh-what are you going to do to us?" Valora stuttered.

"The party's over now," said Vaughn. "I suppose I'll send you sluts home.  
"But you..." He smirked at Soris. "I have other plans for you."

Soris leaned back against the cold, stone wall of his cell. More like a cage; there was barely enough room to lie down. Not that he planned on sleeping or anything like that. It was unlikely that he could even if he tried.

He stood their, and every time he closed his eyes he would see faces. He would see Darrian looking at him in disgust, appalled that Soris would let him die in vain. He would see Shianni's dumbfound, incomprehensible expression. Valora looked at him in shame. His Uncle Cyrion gave him a pleading look, asking him why. Why he had let his son die and left him alone, a widower, and now childless. His aunt, Adaia, whom he barely even remembered, shook her head, mourning the loss of her child and hurt by the cowardice of her nephew.

Each day and each night his guilt tore away at him, made only worse by the incessant ramblings of a _shemlen_ in a nearby cell. His endless, mad ranting threatened to drive Soris insane, and he realized that this was his punishment.

Unable to sleep, he had bags under his sore eyes. He had become used to the dark, used to the insomnia and the lack of food, having lost so much weight. Then one night Soris succumbed to sleep. He saw blood, death, screaming. He saw Vaughn and his friends violate one of his cousins and then kill the other. He saw Darrian's corpse, and watched as it rot, eventually decaying until all that was left were his bones. Then he saw his own corpse laying next to his cousin's. He was going to die in here, wasn't he?

"It's not your fault, though," came Darrian's voice.

Soris quickly got up and grasped the bars of his cell, surprised to see his cousin standing on the other side. Soris cringed when he saw the large gash in his smiling cousin's chest.

"Cousin?" Soris rasped, his throat dry after being deprived of water for so long.

"There was nothing you could do, Soris," Darrian assured him. "It was all over at that point, and if you'd continued to fight you only would have gotten yourself killed. You may have gotten a lot of people killed."

"But I could have tried," Soris said, hanging his head in shame.

"You could have," Darrian said, "but it was fairly obvious that you would have lost. I probably would have kept fighting, but I was always one to rush in without thinking. You at least had the sense to quit; doing so may have even saved Shianni and the others.  
"Too bad neither of us ended up getting married. Remember how you said that you heard your bride looked like a mouse, and I told you that you might get a cage as a wedding gift?" His eyes went dark, and his smile faded. "Looks like I was right, Soris.  
"Don't worry. I'll break you out soon."

Soris opened his eyes, panting heavily, and he quickly stood up. A wave of despair swept over him when he saw that there was no one standing outside of his cell. He was alone; he was a dead man. Left here to rot with a crazy _shem_ whose name he didn't even know. He leaned against the bars of the cell and sighed.

Then he heard the sound of the door to the cell room open, expecting to see one of the prison guards. It wasn't meal time; at least, he didn't think so. It was hard to tell the passage of time in this dark chasm. It was likely a bored guard come to taunt the knife ears or laugh at whatever nonsense Soris's fellow prisoner was spouting.

Soris fell forward, catching himself at the last second to make sure he didn't hit the floor. He looked around, suddenly realizing that he was out of his cell. He had been freed from his cage. He turned to look at the one who freed him, and it was then that he heard Darrian's voice ringing in his head, his words as clear as day.

_I told you so._


	6. The Warden

They walked in almost complete silence in the Deep Roads, the only sound being the tapping of feet on stone. That's all the recruit noticed, at least. Duncan could feel the darkspawn lurking around in the Deep Roads, just watching. Watching, because they were preparing for the Blight that was coming. The Blight that Maric had been warned of, and that his son, King Cailan, refused to acknowledge.

Duncan could hear the song, too. The song he remembered from those many years ago when he had first entered the Deep Roads with Warden-Commander Genevieve, the woman who had recruited him after he committed murder, just like Duncan was doing now with his new recruit. Eight had entered, three had left. Fiona had somehow managed to escape the Blight which had once coursed through her veins, thick with its corruption. That had been their goal. To find Genevieve's brother, Bregan, who knew the location of the Old Gods, in order to postpone the next Blight. They had succeeded, but when the nightmares came Duncan, realized that this was all they had done. That he, Maric, and Fiona had escaped the Deep Roads, having stopped a new Blight from occurring, but that it was only a matter of time. That they could not hold off the Blight forever; the Blight that Maric had been warned of by a Witch of the Wilds, who had prophesized that Maric wouldn't live to see it, and she had been right.

When they entered the Deep Roads twenty years back, Duncan had been the youngest, as well as the newest, Warden. Now all the Wardens he had gone through so much with were dead, Maric was dead, Fiona was trapped in the Orlesian Circle, and now Duncan was on his own. Now people looked to him as he had once looked to Genevieve. He was once a brash, foolish boy who barely managed to get by as a cutpurse, and then threw his life away after he had killed a man who ended up being a Warden. Duncan had not lost his life to a noose, though. He had forfeited it when the Rite of Conscription was invoked by the woman who had loved the man Duncan killed. It was a punishment for Duncan, whether he live or die, but now it was a duty. Now it was who he was.

Duncan had promised to watch over that child, and he had, for twenty long years now. It was Duncan's duty as a Warden, and as a man who had made a vow to protect that now grown-up child.

But Duncan had ruminated this all before. He had sifted through the memories, the guilt, the comrades left behind, and what he could have done. Duncan had thought all of this a million times over, and frankly, he was tired of it.

No, now Duncan thought of the new, dwarven recruit standing by him. Had Duncan made the right decision this time? Should he have taken up King Endrin's offer and gone to his palace, where some good potential candidates might have been? Was Orzammar even the right choice? There was Kinloch Hold, where there were no doubt many talented mages. He'd heard good things about the Arl of Highever's child, a skilled young woman. The Saebra Clan was currently in the Bresilian Forest, if he recalled correctly. The Dalish elves were skillful with a bow, maybe he could even recruit the Second, or perhaps the Keeper could point him in the right direction. He could have gone to the Denerim alienage where Adaia had lived. Her child was likely an adult now, and if he possessed even half the skill his mother had, he could do great things.

What if the dwarf walking next to him died during the Joining, and one of those other potential candidates he'd just been thinking about would have survived? Then this all would have been a big waste of time. Though did it really matter? It's true that every Warden counts, but what difference could one Warden make? Little to none. That's what. Though Duncan had no idea how wrong he was.

He had no idea that, in three of those five other places, were three specific people who stood out among their peers. He had no way of knowing that in all five of those locations he had just pondered the significance of were five men and women who could have made fine Wardens. He had no clue that these people could stop the Blight _and_ end a civil war in Ferelden that had not yet begun, and that Duncan would not live to see. He didn't know that the former Carta dwarf at his side would eventually do just that.

Duncan didn't know, and neither would anyone else ever know, that in order for this one, seemingly insignificant, casteless dwarf who would save them all, to see it all through, it would come at a dreadful price. The price of five lives. Five unimportant people who died and would only be remembered by their loved ones, their existence eventually completely forgotten by the world. Five nobodies who, in another universe where Duncan had made a different choice, would be in this casteless dwarf's shoes. Five lives that were a necessary sacrifice in order for this one man to save the world.


End file.
